


A Guide to Wasteland Dating

by Kittenly



Series: Halfway to Heaven and Just a Mile Out 'A Hell [4]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Bees, Everyone's happy in the poly pile, F/M, Multi, Polyamory, V-shaped Poly, egregious fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8467345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenly/pseuds/Kittenly
Summary: And they say three's a crowd.





	

Where Hancock had managed to find an intact issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine was a mystery for the ages. Even with my finely tuned detective skills, I was at a loss. Not only was it readable, but it was in near perfect condition, with glossy pages and what I could have sworn was the lingering ghost of perfume. The cover, featuring the usual Cosmo photoshopped fantasy, enticed with headlines such as “101 best ever Cosmo sex tips,” “Devotion Quiz: Should you drop your current man?” and the one Hancock was currently buried in, “7 cute date ideas that are guaranteed to get you laid.”

It took a moment to adjusting to the shock and accompanying despair that no matter how far I’d come, I couldn’t seem to escape the dreaded ladymag. I tried to snatch it from him. With a grin, he held it away from me and continued to read. 

“Please let me destroy it,” I said, probably sounding a little more desperate than I wanted to. But I had a serious history with mags like Cosmo. Back in my state prosecutor days, Big Media was one of my recurring nemeses. I’d gone head to head with Cosmo’s parent company in court more than once. They were one of the things from the old world I was glad to see gone. 

So yeah, seeing my boyfriend reading it with such glee burnt my beans a little. 

“You kidding, Sunshine? This stuff is magical. I’m _so_ gonna get laid.”

“Uh huh,” I said, folding my arms across my chest. He waggled his eyebrows...eyebrow ridges...whatever you call that part of an ugly-ass ghoul’s face. I’m sure he thought it was seductive. 

When I thought his attention had left me, I tried lunging for the magazine again. The world would be a better place without it. But his reflexes were too good and he held it above his head, waving it tauntingly just out of reach. 

“Fine, we can play it your way if you want then,” I said. Without any more warning, I grabbed onto him like a monkey and half tackled, half started to climb him. 

If you’ve never tried it before, trying to hold onto someone who is trying really hard to _not_ be held onto ain't easy. Especially when that someone had the muscles of braided wire and hip bones so pointy they should be classified as weapons in their own right. Hancock stumbled wildly under my attack and we fell to the floor with a great billowing of dirt. 

The bastard was laughing his ass off, though he wheezed slightly from having the breath knocked out of him. With a flurry of limbs, he scrambled up and started scooting away. I wasn’t having any of that though, and I threw myself at him. I caught his legs, and he hit the dirt with a puff. As I dragged him back towards me, a soft cough cut through the racket we were making. 

“Bad time?” Valentine asked, leaning in the doorway. He looked like he always did, with his beat up trenchcoat that he wouldn’t let me mend, his tie hanging loose and impudent around his neck. So basically like the smug bastard he was. Sweet Jesus in heaven, how did I end up with the two worst men in the Commonwealth. 

“Never a bad time with you around, Detective,” Hancock said. Somehow he managed to say it with all the composure of a cat even while sprawled on the floor covered in dirt. 

“Wish I could say the same of you, Mr. Mayor,” Valentine said. His yellow eyes fell on me. “Darling?”

“Hancock’s been filling his brain with poison,” I said. 

Valentine’s eyes flicked between us, and his eyebrows raised half a hair. 

“Don’t see how that’s anything new,” he said. 

“No, not chems,” I said, and resumed trying to steal the magazine from him. Hancock just cackled and held it farther out of my reach. “This is a thousand times worse.” 

Valentine walked over and plucked the magazine from Hancock’s hand. When he saw what it was, he let out a sharp bark of laughter. 

“Ha! I’ve only seen this garbage in Old Nick’s memories,” he said. “Where the hell did you find it?”

“Not telling,” Hancock said. His hands now free, he pulled me into his lap. His fingers swiftly found their way under my coat and were pulling at my tucked shirt. But he continued to speak as if he weren’t making an earnest groping effort. “There might be more, but if Sunshine here finds out where it is, she’ll nuke it.”

“It would deserve it too,” I said, squirming from his grip. I got to my feet, intending to take the trash rag from Valentine and burn it or something equally as satisfying. But as I reached for it, he jerked it away and flipped it open. I glared, hoping if I did it hard enough it would light him on fire.

“Wait, wait. I think our illustrious Mayor might be onto something,” Valentine said. 

“No,” I said. Valentine’s eyes flashed at me above the pages, crinkling just a bit. 

“C’mon, Darling. We haven’t actually been on a date, have we?”

Just the word brought on flashbacks of high school. Flocks of awkward teenagers standing together with their fingertips brushing light enough for it to be passed off as an accident. The inane questions pouring out--what’s your favorite color? Oh my _goodness_ , bubblegum is my favorite ice cream flavor too (No it isn’t, Clarice. No one actually likes bubblegum ice cream because it’s terrible. Nothing edible should be that blue). I’d never understand people who romanticized that sort of relationship. As far as I was concerned, dating was nothing more than some cruel herculean trial I had been lucky enough to dodge by dating a grand total of one man in my life. 

“You’re dead to me, Valentine,” I said. He just laughed. 

Hancock scrambled to his feet. “It’ll be fun!” he said and then pointed at the headline. “Plus, it guarantees we’ll get laid!”

I groaned. Hancock snickered. “We’re already in a relationship, dipshit! The only thing you have to do to get laid is fucking ask!”

“Kay,” Hancock said, stupid grin splitting his face like a Jack-o-lantern. “Wanna bang?”

I pressed my palms into my eyes, as if I could shield myself from the inevitable. “Fuck off.”

He tutted, but the appearance of disapproval was ruined by how much he was clearly enjoying this. 

“Looks like we have to go on a date then,” he said. 

“It certainly looks like it,” Valentine agreed. It wasn’t fair, ganging up like that. 

I let out a long-suffering sigh. “Fine,” I said, resigned. “What’s the first thing on your goddamn list?”

* * *

 

It wasn’t terribly easy to find a good picnic spot in the Wasteland. Constant threat of raiders, mirelurks, and even deathclaws kept most sensible people to their fortified settlements. 

But I guess we were some of the least sensible people in this godforsaken place. We headed out from Goodneighbor late in the morning. The sun was climbing, and the summer heat had already burnt off the morning fog. The broken concrete made our traverse a hike, even if we didn’t gain any altitude. 

I imagine we were quite a sight. A ghoul, a ragged synth, and a woman traipsing loudly through the bones of the destroyed city. Thanks to our hard work, the Commonwealth was a lot safer than it had been, but we weren’t stupid. We were all of us armed with a rifle or shotgun propped over our shoulders. In the other hand, each of us carried a metal grocery basket filled with food. Closest thing we could find to a traditional picnic basket. 

I walked in the back, glaring at the basket in my hand. The three of us were fine. We didn’t need to do anything special to appreciate the good thing we had. Certainly didn't need to go on a stupid date.

Valentine must have picked up on my sour mood because he dropped back and matched my reluctant pace. 

“You’re not usually so much of a stick-in-the-mud. Is this really so bad?”

I snorted. “The day is young, Valentine. The day is young.”

He frowned, but didn’t say anything else. We watched as Hancock finally chose what he deemed to be the perfect place for our picnic. He hobbled up a mound of rubble and turned back to us, looking like nothing so much as a conqueror claiming a prized piece of land. He should have brought a flag. 

I looked around the area. It was a park. Or perhaps more accurately it could be described as, once upon a time there was a park. Now it was mostly rubble, dry grass and dead maples. But Hancock looked so damn proud of himself. 

“We’re here!” he announced. Valentine and I picked our way up to the park. The corpse of a skyway had fallen at one end. It was the only good hiding place I could identify readily. I told my general’s brain to shut up. We were on a…We were here to have a nice time. No need for a full tactical report on the area. 

“Picnic in the park,” Valentine said, setting down his basket. “How classic.”

I maintained a grumpy silence and clutched my basket in a vice grip while Valentine and Hancock set out the checkered blanket. Where they’d manage to find that, I could only guess. The two of them sat down and Hancock immediately dug into his basket, which, to the surprise of no one, contained an ample supply of chems. I hadn’t even seen him put those in. He popped a few mentats into his mouth and held the tin out to me. I glanced at Valentine. He’d stopped voicing his disapproval at Hancock’s brazen drug use, but I knew he still didn’t like it.

“Don’t mind Nicky,” Hancock said, reading my mind. “He’s just jealous psychoactives don’t work on him.”

It was tempting, but I wasn’t really feeling it. “Not now,” I said, smiling despite myself. It always struck me as terribly sweet when Hancock offered to share his chems with me. When he’d first started, I didn’t realize what a big deal it was for him. Not only was he sharing with me free of charge, but he wanted to get high with me. A genuine compliment coming from him. 

Hancock shrugged. “Sure, though you look like you could use a little something to cool you down a little.”

“Nothing a little grub won’t fix, I’m sure,” said Valentine, reaching into his basket. He pulled out a box of Sugar Bombs and shook them. 

I gave him a dirty look and snatched the box from his hand. In a huff, I sat down between then and ripped the top of the box open. The plastic bag inside soon followed and in a few seconds I was shoving a handful of powdered sugar coated pumps into my mouth. My secret weakness. Sugary cereal. They were playing dirty.

Hancock tried to stick his hand into the box for his own handful. I smacked him. 

“Get your own,” I said, thought it came out more like “Gf fr’wn,” as I tried to talk through the mouthful of powder sugar. 

“Fine, don’t share,” he said with a laugh. 

I tried to swallow but all the sugar had dried out my mouth and I’d taken too large a bit. Valentine noticed and handed me some water, and I finally managed to swallow. 

“I share plenty with you,” I said. “Ammo, chems, food, bodily fluids--”

“I think that last one’s my favorite,” he interjected. 

I stuck my tongue out at him. He returned the gesture. “All I ask,” I continued, “is that you don’t touch my fucking cereal.”

“Fine, fine,” he said. “Hand me some Fancy Lads.”

I tossed him the box of cakes, which he started eating two or three at a time. Behind me, Valentine sighed, a put upon noise that only half hid his fondness for us. I leaned against him, let my head tilt up as I popped more cereal in my mouth. It was a cloudless day--the kind you always hear about in children’s stories where the sky is impossibly blue and a lazy breeze drifts through the city. I could imagine the noise of crowds and traffic around me as people left their dark little homes and came to bask in the summer light. A perfect day to go to the beach, or play baseball in the park. A perfect day for a picnic. 

“See,” Hancock said. He must have been watching me slowly relax like an elastic once the tension’s gone. “This ain’t too bad.”

Part of me still clung to a shard of obstinance, but mostly I was just warm. I closed my eyes and shifted so I was snuggled into Valentine. He moved automatically to accommodate me and in a moment my head was resting comfortably in his lap. He threaded his bare metal through my hair and the head scratch was bliss. 

“Maybe,” I said reluctantly, unable to keep from smiling. I cracked open one eye. Hancock had moved so he was sitting right by where I was sprawled on Valentine’s lap. “But you’re still not getting laid.”

“Aww, why not?” Hancock said. 

“Too warm,” I said. “Plus I’m sure Valentine doesn’t want the sight of your skinny ass burned into his mind.”

Valentine laughed beneath me. “She’s right about that.”

Hancock scoffed. “My ass is fantastic. You’re both just jealous of my--”

“Don’t say it,” I warned. He waggled his eyebrows again. 

“My ghoulishly good looks.”

Valentine and I groaned in unison while Hancock laughed uproariously at his own goddamn pun. 

“That’s it,” I said throwing my arm across my face. “We’re through, Hancock.”

“Don’t be like that, Sunshine,” he said. He bent down and tried to kiss me but I shoved him away with a laugh. 

“No,” I said. “I mean it, Hancock. We’re done, and there’s nothing you can do to get me back.” I managed to get my foot on his chest and kick him away. He fell back into the dead grass with a snort and a puff of dust. It took only a second for him to come crawling back. 

“Sounds like a challenge to me,” he said. He tried for a kiss again, and tried to wrestle my arms away from my face as I tried to keep him off of me. 

“Get away,” I whined. I looked up, to find Valentine looked down at us with exasperation. 

“If you two are gonna insist on doing your foreplay in public, could you at least not do it literally in my lap?”

Hancock grinned manically at Valentine. “Just wanna make sure you feel included, Detective.”

I giggled. Valentine glared at the two of us, but eventually went back to playing with my hair. I sighed and finally let Hancock get his kissing in. Despite his stated enthusiasm to get in my pants, he set the pace molasses slow. He didn’t push for anything more than slow, sloppy making own. I was grateful, because I hadn’t been lying when I said I was warm and sleepy. 

It was about as perfect as it could get, drifting off to sleep in the sun, squished between my two boys.

* * *

 

Or it would have been if the bees hasn’t found us a few minutes later. 

If you think the giant flies and mosquitoes are bad (and they are), well you ain’t seen nothing till a five pound hornet comes buzzing at your wanting to eat your picnic. 

Some things just don’t seem to change. A picnic’s not a picnic unless you’re fighting off wasps. Though honestly, I preferred the pre-mutated wasps. The little fuckers were tiny little demons, but at least they were tiny. And couldn’t jet propel their stingers or venom at you. 

Why couldn’t the cute fuzzy animals be the ones turned giant by radiation?  Why did it have to be bugs? Where were my enormous groundhogs? Or Pomeranians the size of moose?

By the time we emerged from the scrap drowning in bee guts and all of us nursing at least one nasty sting, we were ready to be done with that particular date.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> It's not impossible that I'll write more of this, but I'm marking it as complete for now because I have no immediate plans to continue.


End file.
